Hudson leaned over the edge of the roof. “Hand it up, Raleigh.”
Raleigh handed Hudson a board for the roof of the general store, then immediately put his hands in his pockets, his shoulders up to his ears. “It’s freezing out here. Can’t we finish fixing the roof tomorrow?”
“Sure we could, if it didn’t look like a storm was coming, and if you’re willing to shovel the snow off Mrs. Reed’s sacks of flour. Of course then she won’t have flour to make the cinnamon bread you take every chance to buy. If you’re willing to sacrifice your bread supply then—”
“Fine, fine,” he said. “But hurry it up.”
Gladly. Although Hudson wouldn’t complain about his current duty in Raleigh’s earshot, he resented having to rebuild and repair buildings that were only a few months old. Faster, faster was the mantra of everyone in the new town of Cheyenne, Wyoming, and of everyone he’d met out west. The buildings were standing insults to every wind that blew through town.
When the ground had grown too cold to lay track, the settlement had burgeoned from a few hundred to over four thousand people, waiting out the winter. But those four thousand could dwindle to a handful as the railroad moved on. Nothing and no one was guaranteed to last.
Ever since the 100th Meridian excursionists returned home and started talking about their grand adventures, all sorts of easterners had come west. Their reasons were varied. Some prospective settlers wanted to buy lots and build houses and businesses. Lots selling for $150 a few months ago were now going for $2,500. But the God-fearing folks weren’t alone. Scam artists, drifters, people who didn’t fit in back east, and those running from something made up a good portion of the population.
It was hard to tell the good people from the bad. And no one was in charge. They’d tried to form a government, but the criminals had threatened the officials until they quit.
Hudson had assumed the army soldiers at Fort Russell, two miles north, would keep things under control, but they were there to protect the railroad from Indians, not to deal with civilian problems—which were many and varied. In fact, soldiers were told to stay away from the town for their own safety. There was something terribly wrong with that.
“Come on, Hudson,” Raleigh pleaded. “There’s a new game at the Grubstake I want to try.”
Hudson stopped his hammering and peered down at his brother. “If you’re wanting me to hurry, that’s not the way to do it. How much have you lost to those shysters?”
“Just a little. But the new game is called Mexican Monte, and the odds are supposed to be in the players’ favor.”
Was he really that dumb? “Gambling odds always favor the house. Always.”
Raleigh’s pout made him look ten years old. “You’re no fun.”
“Never claimed to be.”
“It’s not like I’m going to spend my money on the girls at Miss Mandy’s.” He looked longingly in the direction of the whorehouse that had sprung up alongside the saloons and gambling houses.
Hudson climbed down the ladder, the work finished. “Raleigh . . .”
With a dramatic sigh, his little brother turned his gaze away. “Everyone’s going—”
“Not everyone.”
“But it’s so close.”
Hudson nodded in the opposite direction. “That new church is just as close.”
Another sigh. “Why’s it so hard? Every sort of temptation is right here, and Mum and Da are a thousand miles away and . . . and no one’s watching.”
“Except God.”
“Yeah. I’ve thought about that.”
“Good for you.” Hudson felt for his little brother and all the men on the line. “But even I admit it is hard.”
Raleigh looked surprised. “You’re . . . tempted?”
“Don’t make me out to be a saint, because I’m far from it.”
“So you want to . . . ?” He tilted his head toward the temptations.
“True character is what you do when no one’s watching.”
Raleigh rocked his head back and forth. “And God’s always watching.” He moved the ladder from the edge of the roof to the ground by the wall. “But didn’t President Lincoln say that folks who have no vices have very few virtues?”
Hudson had to laugh. “So that’s why you’re wanting to try a few vices on for size?”
He shrugged. “Well . . .”
Hudson put a hand on the back of his brother’s neck and squeezed. “The vices are there so you can develop the virtues needed to avoid them. You shouldn’t purposely sin and then say, ‘Oops. I’m sorry.’ It’s supposed to be a struggle, one you conquer by tapping in to God’s strength and not giving in to your own weaknesses.”
“Oh.”
“Come back to our room. I’ll play you a game of double solitaire.”
“If only that were tempting.”
Josephine paused outside her mother’s bedroom door before knocking. Today was her twenty-first birthday, and she was not in a mood to listen to another complaint.
But to go out with Lewis and not check in with her mother would have caused worse repercussions.
So she knocked.
“Come in,” came Mother’s sickly voice—which Josephine had learned could be turned on and off at will.
Josephine didn’t mean to sweep into the room, but the intrinsic qualities of the nubbed silk of her gown created a distinct shwoosh sound.
Which caused Mother to open one eye. “Another new gown?”
“Not new. I’ve had it months.” A month. “Do you like the rust color? It’s called Havannah. Frieda says it brings out the copper in my hair.”
Mother gave the gown a good study and ignored the question about its color. “I don’t like this new fashion of trains. Dust-catchers, that’s what they are. And what are you going to do with all the lovely gowns you have?”
“I told you. Frieda and I are refashioning them. We’re attaching tapes to draw the front of each dress to the back in a drapery. Of course I have had to get new crinolines and petticoats to support the new silhouette, but the expense is not excessive.”
“Hmm.”
Lately, any expense was excessive to Mother. Josephine hadn’t asked about it, but she had noticed that Cook was serving meat less often, and the fires in the grates were kept ablaze for fewer hours in the day. “Papa is proud of our ingenuity about the dresses. And I asked him if it was all right to spend the money on the underthings and he assured me it was.”
“Of course he did.”
Josephine regretted bringing up her father. Since he hadn’t come home for Christmas, Mother had decided she was ill. Dr. Bennett had been called on multiple occasions, but he’d found no true cause. Yet the elixir he’d instructed Mother to take did help her sleep, which was of some benefit.
To Josephine at least.
And Aunt Bernice. For with Mother indisposed, Aunt Bernice had come out of hibernation and had joined a bridge club. The ladies took the card game quite seriously, but Mother drew the line at ever having them come to the house to play. Which meant Aunt was absent on many afternoons.
Which suited Josephine just fine.
And Lewis.
With the she-bears moved off to other lairs, the parlor was free for courting and put to good use by Lewis and Josephine, with only Frieda present. They had passed many an afternoon and evening there, and had even enjoyed an occasional rousing hand of three-person dominoes.
Though Frieda was lenient enough to let the couple have their private conversations, she never left the room. Which meant nothing untoward ever occurred—not that Josephine would have allowed such a thing anyway. But in spite of the limitations, their relationship had definitely blossomed.
Actually, Lewis seemed very content to stay at home, and he made a concerted effort to amuse her with his sketches, singing, and poetry reading. Yes, it would have been nice to go out, but who was she to complain about love poems? Especially when they led to talk of a future life together. And especially when the winter had been so fierce. Lewis was the one who’d had to brave the weather to come to her. He was a true gentleman.
“Where are you off to in such a dress?” Mother asked.
“As it is a special day, Lewis is taking me out to dinner with the Maddoxes.”
She waited to see if Mother would take the bait and offer her a birthday greeting.
“But you’re wearing long sleeves. A proper dinner dress shows the shoulders, the décolletage, and arms.”
“It’s the twenty-fifth of February,” she said, giving her mother another chance to remember. “I refuse to wear such a dress when it’s freezing outside.”
“Since when do you defy fashion?”
It was meant to disparage. “Since I am old enough to choose gowns that combine fashion and common sense.”
Mother pointed to the train. “A train is not sensible at all.”
Perhaps not. Josephine kissed her mother’s forehead. “Sleep well.” There was no need to add, “Don’t wait up,” as her mother valued her sleep more than Josephine’s well-being.
Or birthday.
Oh well. Hopefully Lewis would make up for it.
Tonight was the night.
Lewis stood on the stoop outside the Cain residence and patted the engagement ring in his pocket.
He’d wanted to propose at Christmas—with General Cain there to give his approval. But when the general had remained out west . . .
Actually, the main reason he hadn’t proposed then was for the lack of a ring. Josephine had made it very clear she would not accept any proposal without all the proper accoutrements. As the holidays passed, he could tell she was getting antsy and knew she wouldn’t wait for a proposal forever. Besides, he wanted to get on with it.
And so, he’d done what he had to do, and . . .
Tonight was the night.
Lewis handed his menu to the waiter after giving his order. He’d purposely chosen the least expensive items offered. But at the Willard, nothing was inexpensive.
Alas, Josephine had not chosen with cost in mind, and neither had Rachel or Clark Maddox. Lewis had wanted to have a dinner at the Cain home tonight, but the Maddoxes had invited them out, and as it was Josephine’s birthday, he’d agreed.
As if reading his mind, Josephine said, “I am so glad we went out tonight. It has been so long.” She looked around the Willard Room and sighed. “Papa often talked about taking me here a second time.”
“A second time?” How silly of him to think this would be a new experience for her.
She patted his hand. “I was very young during my previous visit. The Swedish Nightingale, Jenny Lind, was staying here and had some sort of reception in the hotel during her American tour. She sang a few songs. I don’t remember anything about the hotel, but I do remember sitting on Papa’s lap, and Miss Lind’s voice lulling me to sleep.”
“So you never returned?” Rachel asked.
She shook her head. “By the time I was old enough to care, the war was upon us.” She gave Lewis the most disarming smile. “Actually, I’m glad Papa never got around to it, so Lewis and I could experience it together.”
“Look at you two,” Rachel said. She tapped her husband’s arm with her closed fan. “Perhaps we should leave and give them their privacy.”
“No, no,” Josephine said. “Mother would have a fit. She had to be convinced to let me go out to a restaurant at all and agreed only because you two are here.”
Rachel fluttered her fan. “You make me very relieved to be married, just so I could leave all that silly rigmarole behind. Aren’t you glad, Clark?”
“Immensely,” he said, though he seemed horribly bored by the whole thing.
Josephine looked around at the other diners and whispered to Lewis, “I am glad to be here, yet I’ve also enjoyed our times in the parlor, just us two.”
“And Frieda. And sometimes your aunt and mother.”
“Such are the rules,” she said with a pretty smile.
Lewis found the rules of etiquette daunting. And annoying. The sooner he could get her back to the house, the sooner he could propose, and the sooner his stomach would stop its awful churning.
The sooner the better.
Josephine led Lewis into the parlor. “It’s getting late. I’m not sure Frieda is even awake. Dowd has gone to fetch her, but you may have to leave.” She sat on one end of the sofa, looked up at him, and smiled. “I will say it was a wonderful evening. Dinner was delicious, and—”
“Josephine.” Unable to wait any longer, he slid onto the sofa and took her hand in his. “I care for you deeply. Would you do me the honor of being my wife?” He pulled the ring from the pocket of his jacket and held it for her to see.
In the flicker of the candlelight her eyes were as green as the ring’s emerald.
“Oh Lewis. Of course I will marry you,” she said.
He put the ring on her finger and was relieved it fit.
He ran his thumb across her knuckles. “Are you happy?”
“Completely,” she said.
She looked at the ring, turning it in the light. Her forehead furrowed for just a moment, and he worried she was disappointed.
“It—it was my grandmother’s.”
Her face softened. “Which makes it especially dear. It is very striking. You have exquisite taste.”
Beggars can’t be choosers.
He drew her to standing and pulled her into an embrace.
“Ahem,” Frieda said from the doorway.
Josephine ran to her. “Look! We are betrothed!”
Frieda gave the ring a good looking-at, then said, “What do your parents say?”
“I haven’t—”
Lewis intervened. “I asked General Cain for permission when we were out west, and he gave it. Mrs. Cain gave her approval even before the trip.”
Frieda’s eyebrow rose, and she seemed only partially satisfied.
“You arranged all that?” Josephine asked him.
“I did. For I knew early on you were the one for me.” He kissed her hand.
Josephine linked her arm through his. “So you see, Frieda, it is not a complete surprise—to anyone,” Josephine said. “You have heard us speak of the possibilities, right here in this room.”
“I suppose.” Frieda took up her usual position in Aunt’s chair near the fire and opened a book.
Josephine drew Lewis back to the sofa. “Where will we live after we’re married?”
Whatever your dowry will buy. “I don’t really know.”
She shook her head, making her earrings bobble. “It doesn’t matter. I will live anywhere with you.”
He kissed her hand. “And I you.”
“I simply pray we will be blessed with love, prosperity, and many children,” she said.
Children? He didn’t want children.
But prosperity sounded good.
After Lewis left, Frieda held Josephine’s left hand under the firelight in the bedroom. “It’s quite a large emerald,” she said.
“Very large. And the setting is both delicate and intricate. I couldn’t be happier with it. Besides, it was his grandmother’s. In my eyes, that makes it perfect.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Frieda pulled Josephine into her arms. “Congratulations, Liebchen.” She shook her head, looking at Josephine from top to bottom. “I can’t believe it. You’re all grown up. And engaged. Where did the time go?”
Josephine sighed. “It has been a wonderful birthday,” she said, as she removed her amber earrings.
“Now, to tell your mother and aunt.”
She froze. “Not tonight.”
“Pish-posh. You’re not going to bed without telling them.”
“But they are sleeping. And Mother is unwell.”
“You will be unwell if your mother discovers you accepted Mr. Simmons’s proposal tonight and didn’t tell her. Besides, she apparently gave her permission already, so she’ll be pleased. Go on now. You can tell your aunt tomorrow.”
Josephine handed Frieda the earrings and walked toward her mother’s room. Why was she so reluctant to tell her the good news?
Because I don’t want her to say anything to ruin it.
The person she really wanted to tell was Papa. She would write him a letter this very night. He would be pleased. He had been the one to introduce her to Lewis.
Josephine reached her mother’s bedroom and put an ear to the door. There was no sound, which was not surprising. Even though Mother approved of Lewis, she would find many negative things to say: You are not marrying and leaving me alone without your father. Or, We don’t have the funds for anything lavish. Or, I hope Lewis doesn’t expect a large dowry.
Bracing herself for the worst, she entered the room. Mother’s bed could be seen in the firelight. She was clearly sleeping.
Leave. Just leave now.
But as Josephine decided to do so, her mother stirred, looked toward the door, then sat up. “Josephine! You nearly scared me to death. What’s wrong?”
It was best to just get it done. She walked toward the bed. “Lewis proposed. We are engaged.”
To Josephine’s surprise, Mother clapped her hands together and beamed. “Finally! I thought he would never get around to it.”
She was dumbstruck by her joy. “So you are truly pleased?”
“Of course I am. Your father and I have exchanged many letters over it, and we agree it is a good match.”
She held out her arms and wiggled her fingers. “Come here, girl. Let me give you a hug.”
Josephine couldn’t remember the last time her mother had hugged her—or added a kiss for good measure.
“Go on then,” Mother said. “Sleep if you can. We shall start making wedding plans in the morning.”
Josephine turned toward the door. Would wonders never cease?
“Josephine?”
She turned back. “Yes?”
“Happy birthday, my dear.”
Happy birthday indeed.
The snow fell heavy and hard outside Hudson’s room. Tomorrow there would be no work on the buildings, but plenty of work clearing the track so trains could keep coming in from the east. With the railroads temporarily providing free freight there were stockpiles of supplies all over Cheyenne. Last time there was a blizzard it had taken a hundred men ten hours to clear the track.
Raleigh was readying for bed, tucking his long johns into his socks before getting under the freezing covers. “Get some sleep, Hud. You know the general is going to work us to death tomorrow.”
“I will. I’m just finishing up a letter to Sarah Ann.”
Raleigh pulled the covers up to his ears. “How long has it been since you heard from her?”
“A little bit.” It had been three months. Since before Christmas.
“We’ve got letters from Mum and Da since then.”
So I can’t blame it on the mail. Actually, Hudson guessed why Sarah Ann’s letters had stopped. “She’s just mad because I didn’t come home for Christmas.”
“Rightly so, I’d say.”
Hudson swung around in the chair to look at him. “You agreed it was best if we stayed here and kept working.”
“For money reasons it makes sense, but for love reasons . . . you should’ve gone home.”
“Now you say this?”
Raleigh turned toward the wall, adjusting the blanket over his shoulders. “Don’t blame me. You knew what you were doing. Now hush. I want to sleep.”
Hudson returned to the letter. Dearest Sarah Ann . . .
Raleigh was right. Hudson had known there was a risk in not going back to Pennsylvania for Christmas. But the thought of traveling all that way and entering that before world made his stomach clench. Yes, it would have been nice to see Sarah Ann, to hold her and kiss her. She was such a bitty thing that holding her close was like embracing a child.
But having to hear his parents and his brother Ezra talk about working at the mill . . . he felt like an outsider. He’d been away fighting the war for years, and had only been home a few months before he’d heard of the opportunities on the railroad. Allegheny wasn’t home to him anymore. It held his childhood memories, but when he thought about the future he found it hard picturing himself there. The mills were a job, not a life.
He looked outside at the huge wet flakes flying by the window. His thoughts of the future were out there. Probably not in Cheyenne, but somewhere in the west that was to come. There was something exhilarating about the newness of the plains. Not that they were new, but until now only Indians had lived here, only fur trappers had tapped in to their potential. But both of them were transient sorts, and even the wagon trains were just traveling through. To stay put, to have this be his destination, not just his route to somewhere else . . .
It was easy for the idea to consume him, and so he finished his letter to Sarah Ann, sending it eastward.
Into his past.
Josephine turned over in bed. Again.
Realizing her eyes were wide open, she sat up. “This is ridiculous.”
She rearranged her pillows, creating a comfortable throne. She drew her covers ’round and plopped her arms on top. “There,” she said. “Now figure it out so you can get some sleep.”
Figure what out?
Problems? Worries? She had neither. She was a happily engaged woman.
Yet her sudden sigh spoke volumes she didn’t want to hear.
There was a tap on her door, and Frieda stuck her head inside. “You’re not asleep.”
Frieda pulled a chair over to the side of the bed. “Tell me.”
Right to the point. “Marriage is the next step. I am grown now. It is time I marry.”
“So you’ve become betrothed because it’s ‘time’?”
Not exactly. “I became betrothed because . . .” Because I was asked by a man who has done nothing to make me not love him, a man my parents approve of. How could I refuse? “It is time I am a wife and start my own family. It is time I have my own house, and get out of this—”
“Yes?”
“Get out of this house for good.”
“And?”
“Get away from Mother and Aunt Bernice.”
“There you go. The truth is always best.”
Josephine looked toward the window. A branch tapped lightly on the pane. “With Papa away, I still feel trapped here.”
“If he were home, would you be so eager to marry Lewis?”
Josephine pursed her lips, not liking the answer that came to her. “But all my friends are getting married—or have married. It is my turn.”
“So it is a contest?”
“Of course not. But I have dreamed of my wedding all my life.”
“So it is the wedding you want, not the marriage.”
“No, that is also not true.”
Frieda looked at Josephine through her lashes. “You haven’t shared the most important reason for marrying Lewis.”
Josephine hesitated. “I do love him.”
“Do you?”
“Of course I do.”
Frieda moved to the bed, pulling her into an embrace. “Oh Liebchen. Having doubts is natural. Every big decision comes with doubts clinging to its side.”
“Really?”
“Really.” Frieda tucked her in. “Now go to sleep. Tomorrow is a fresh day.”
Josephine liked the sound of that.